


At The Still Point (Of The Turning World).

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Love Actually (2003)
Genre: Bisexual Characters, Canon Character of Color, F/M, M/M, Multi, POV Character of Color, Polyamory, The Best Solution For A Love Triangle, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How it starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At The Still Point (Of The Turning World).

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SarahJeanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahJeanne/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahJeanne/profile)[**SarahJeanne**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahJeanne) / [](http://justaotherwitch.livejournal.com/profile)[**justaotherwitch**](http://justaotherwitch.livejournal.com/)!
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from Burnt Norton by T. S. Eliot. Thanks to [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/profile)[**ChokolatteJedi**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi) for the beta!
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
> [Yuletide Reveal Meta Post](http://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/102278.html)

"Are you in love with him?" Juliet asks.

Peter turns and looks at her. She's, for some reason, smiling. "I think so, yes," he says heavily.

\---

That's not how it starts.

\---

The problem with Mark has always been that he's determined to be a martyr. This was clear when they were five years old and Mark said, "okay, take my toys, go ahead, fine, it's not like I like them or anything", and then sulked for half an hour until Peter finally grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back to the sandbox.

That's probably not how it started either.

\---

It definitely didn't start like this:

Mark likes gifting surprises to people.

This is different, he always insists to the police whenever something goes completely awry, from _dropping_ a surprise on someone. That makes it sound like it might not be welcome. Mark's always sure what he does is going to be welcome.

Mark is a conductor by nature, directing all of the elements to bring them together into a wonderful, surprising, artistic whole. For Mark, it's not a gift. For Mark, it's part of his art. And when it all goes right, Mark's beaming like someone who was just given the biggest gift of all.

But that's not how it starts.

\---

How it did start (drunken version): Mark likes vodka and Peter likes brandy and Juliet likes whiskey and they all like each other and the house that Peter and Juliet moved into three years ago is much too big for just the two of them -- that's always been an agreed-upon truth and a constant source of complaint from Juliet's younger sister, who is completely jealous -- and then they all wind up in bed.

Mark, Peter, and Juliet, that is. Not with Juliet's younger sister. Because Helena's sweet and all, but she's also studying in Moscow and so that would be a very long flight just to manage that, and he's _kidding_ , Mark. Juliet, tell him he's kidding?

So what that it's not funny; funny doesn't matter. He just had sex with his wife and his best friend. He has an excuse to not be on top of his game.

He'll get it back. It might take a few more orgasms, though. Fair warning.

(Juliet agrees. Mark thirds the motion.)

\---

How it did start (sober version): Juliet is being quiet, which means she's mulling a problem over, and Peter gives her space because if he doesn't, she will bite his head off like the praying mantis she has tattooed on her knee, a souvenir of her football career. It had been intended to be a warning: back off, danger is coming and you won't know what hit you.

Because if you don't pay attention to what's going on and you don't stay light on your feet, Juliet will have hit you and then, sorry, but the game is over and you have lost. Peter's watched Juliet bowl people over enough times. He recognizes the signs.

So Peter's been keeping a safe distance, and then one night, the second weekend after New Year's, Juliet brings over a bowl of popcorn. She puts it down onto the coffee table and pops a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She chews and swallows, never taking her eyes off of Peter.

Peter is used to this. Juliet, when she gets distracted by a big problem, will look through him and never see him. They've had meals together when she's been distracted, which is frequently surreal.

But Juliet's not looking through him in an I'm-distracted-leave-me-alone-or-I'll-bite-your-cock-off way. She's looking through him in a measured I'm-your-wife-so-don't-fuck-with-me-or-lie-to-me way.

"I've been talking to Mark," she says.

Peter's surprised. Mark, for some reason, is always polite to Juliet, but never friendly. Peter has always despaired. They're his two favorite people in the world, but get them in a room together and Mark turns into a block of ice. And then it affects Juliet and then it bounces back to Mark and then there are the two of them, mutually enforcing their disdain for each other. If you'd asked Peter five minutes ago, he'd have said that both of them only tolerate each other because Peter's in the middle, so they have to. But that's not much of a foundation for a real friendship. Or, at least, that's what he'd assumed. The evidence had seemed very clear.

"Okay," Peter says.

"He's in love with me," Juliet says bluntly. Peter's mouth drops open. "Oh, and he's in love with you, too, did he ever mention?"

There are times in a person's life when time just stops. Peter can feel each of his heartbeats thudding in his chest. He twists his fingers together. "N-no," he says, feeling exactly the same way he did when Mark shoved him out into a crowd at their first mixer at university. Terrified, but excited and, even at that moment, grateful to Mark for pulling the book away from him and making him come. "No, he didn't."

"Yeah, he wouldn't," Juliet says. "That's what he kept saying, something about loving both of us and loving what we have and the picture we make together -- he really is too much of a photographer, seeing everything as still images pieced together, which is fascinating but also rather strange. He says he's in love with our happiness and doesn't want to do anything to jeopardize that, his word. And I've been thinking, and I don't think he would. Jeopardize what we have."

Peter opens his mouth and closes it a couple times, before shaking his head. He has no words. No words.

Juliet smiles at him gently, comfortingly. She puts her hand on his. "Are you in love with him?" Juliet asks.

Are you in love with him? That's a... very inadequate question. Love's just another emotion. You can't love someone more or someone less, he used to tell his siblings, you can only just love, and you can love as much as you _can_ love. If you feel that for someone, you can't quantify it. It's an emotion, it can be overwhelming, or it can be chugging around in the back, humming happily, and never bother you at all, just being warm and content in the nest puddle of love--

Peter bites his lip and tries not to start laughing hysterically. He's being incomprehensible even to himself. This _must_ be love.

But love's always been an inadequate word. It doesn't encompass anything at all. It's just a word. It doesn't describe anything faithfully. It's effectively meaningless these days. I love that restaurant. I love my car. I love my wife.

I love my best friend.

Of course he loves his best friend. He's _Mark_. And of course Mark loves him. They've been friends since they started school and now they're both working adults and Peter's married. Of course they love each other.

Probably the sticking point here is if Peter wants to have sex with Mark.

Oh, stop using euphemisms.

The sticking point here is if Peter wants to _fuck_ Mark.

Because apparently Mark wants to fuck him and Peter would ask when the hell that happened, except that as soon as he thinks of it, he _knows_. Knows with the clarity of a thousand suns blinding him as he drives east in the morning, west in the afternoon. Blinded by the light. That should be their song, his and Mark's. Blinded by the light.

...This isn't Peter's fault. Really. It's not every day his wife asks him to think about fucking Mark. About taking him into a room with a bed, about placing his hands upon Mark's collar, about carefully unbuttoning Mark's wrinkled Oxford shirt. About tugging the shirt off of him by the sleeves. About putting his hands beneath Mark's undershirt and slowly rolling it up. About taking his time to smooth and caress the skin beneath his fingertips. About rubbing and teasing with his hands as he gets Mark's undershirt off, and then stealing a kiss from Mark's bitten, swollen, parted lips, diving in to get just a taste, the way he's wanted to, because Mark's breathing heavily and unevenly, hitching a breath up and out, and he's starting to whimper, he's starting to beg, he's starting to say, please, Peter, please--

\--and then Juliet's coming up from behind him and sliding her hands into Mark's front jeans pockets and cupping his hard cock through it and she's murmuring gently in Mark's ear that it's okay, it's all okay, and Peter's fumbling at Mark's belt, because belts are evil and have no place in the bedroom, he's thought for years, and then he's making good time getting Mark's jeans off, and, oh, Mark's turning around to help Juliet with her dress, tugging it up over her head, and then her hair is mussed and Mark automatically runs his fingers through it, trying to put it to rights but really just making it more of a sight, and then he's kissing Juliet and she's holding a hand out to Peter, standing just behind Mark and watching, smiling, and he takes her hand and she pulls him close and he kisses the back of Mark's neck, and between them--

\--between them--

\--between them--

Peter blinks and swallows hard. He turns from staring, unseeing, at the wall, and looks at Juliet.

Juliet, for some reason, is smiling. Still.

"I think so, yes," Peter says heavily.

\---

Telling Mark is like _herding cats_.

\---

Peter does most of the talking and Mark does most of the shouting and Juliet does most of the drinking.

And then a week later, Mark turns up one Friday night with cake in a box and wine in a bag and says, "okay, I'm ready to listen now."

\---

And it (actually) begins from there.


End file.
